Lost
by Specter-Paulsen
Summary: Harvey doesnt sleep anymore.


He doesn't sleep anymore.

He drinks scotch, lots of scotch, but it doesn't relax him enough to sleep.

He tries meditation at the suggestion of Dr Lipschitz, but he can't quiet his mind.

He doesn't want to take pills, and Lipschitz won't prescribe them anyway.

He sits on his couch all night, staring into the fire, trying not to think about how the colour reminds him of her hair and the heat reminds him of her lips on his.

She asks if he's ok and he doesn't know the answer. He nods, shrugs, tries to brush it off but she sees through him. She worries and he can see it, but they're too far apart now. Too much has been said and done.

He's despondent in therapy every Thursday. He can't commit, won't commit, to any form of permanent treatment. He's drowning and he can't get out.

He doesn't have panic attacks anymore. Now he sits in a pool of despair. Constant, heavy, dark. He goes through the motions every day but his heart isn't in it.

He goes home at night and sits. Just sits, waiting for the morning. He doesn't try to sleep, knows it's futile. He drinks and he sits. And when the dawn comes he showers and dresses, starting another day over again. Another pointless day, the same pointless day he's lived for weeks now. It's his own personal Groundhog Day.

She worries more, finds reasons to come by his office. He doesn't try to replicate their old familiar exchanges. He agrees with her, nods and fakes a smile until she leaves. He knows she doesn't buy it. But she's not pushing it and that's his answer.

One morning he decides not to go to work. He stays on the couch, staring into the fire, a rapidly emptying decanter in front of him.

When she arrives in the afternoon he's still there. He's wearing yesterday's suit and it's the first thing she comments on. He shrugs.

She's angry now. She's yelling and she's crying and he can't react. He doesn't know how to anymore. So he sits.

He feels foggy. He can see her, but he can't really hear her. It's like she's underwater. Or maybe he's underwater. He doesn't know anymore.

She wraps herself around him, holding, stroking. She's still talking and he still can't hear. But he thinks he might be passing out.

When he wakes, she's there.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

She's crying again and he feels it. His chest is tight and he reaches for her, holding, comforting.

"Was I asleep?"

"Yes. You slept for almost two days."

He nods, understanding. She tells him he had a breakdown. Lipschitz had been there and he'd left a packet of pills. He refuses them. Doesn't want to be medicated. She insists and he's too tired to fight.

The pills work. Within three days he's starting to feel normal again.

She's still there. She left for two hours that first day to get things from her apartment and she hasn't left him since. He doesn't ask for details. Doesn't want to know.

Six days later she tells him. She ended her relationship. It wasn't what she wanted. He nods but still can't tell her. He sees the disappointment in her eyes. But she still doesn't leave.

On the tenth day he wants to go back to work. Lipschitz won't allow it. Not yet, he says. It's too soon.

On the twelfth day, he leaves his apartment for the first time. She takes him to the park and they walk. Winding up, down, around and back again. The sun is shining and he feels the warmth on his face. He's feeling again.

On the 15th day, the pills run out. Lipschitz won't give any more and he's glad. He doesn't want them. He wants to go back to normal.

She hasn't left yet. She's still sleeping in his guest room. She's cooking his meals and cleaning his apartment. He doesn't know what to say.

On the 17th day he takes her hand. They sit on the couch, hands linked, no words exchanged. It's comfortable, but it's still not right. Something is missing.

On the 20th day, Lipschitz says he can go back to work. In two more days. He's relieved but he's scared. He won't say it, but he knows she knows.

The day before he goes back to work she takes his hand. Like before, they sit and don't speak. And then they do.

They talk for hours. She tells him she's sorry, she tells him she lied. He tells her he lied too. He tells her how he couldn't sleep. How her relationship was a catalyst. She nods. She knows.

They talk about the past, they talk about the future. He asks her why she stayed.

Because I love you.

They kiss and everything feels right. He knows this is what he's been missing.

He takes her to his bed that night and they make love. All the pieces of the puzzle fall into place and he feels like he can breathe again.

He watches her sleep and he knows. He went to hell and back and she was there. She had always been there.

And when he walks into the office the next morning with her by his side, he knows he'll never be lost again.


End file.
